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Happiness is always a by-product. It is probably a matter of temperament, and for anything I know it may be glandular. But it is not something that can be demanded from life, and if you are not happy you had better stop worrying about it and see what treasures you can pluck from your own brand of unhappiness.

The world is full of people whose notion of a satisfactory future is, in fact, a return to the idealised past.

I object to being told that I am saving daylight when my reason tells me that I am doing nothing of the kind... At the back of the Daylight Saving scheme, I detect the bony, blue-fingered hand of Puritanism, eager to push people into bed earlier, and get them up earlier, to make them healthy, wealthy, and wise in spite of themselves.

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People don't remember me. Really. It's not a paranoid thing; I just have this habit of slipping through memories. It doesn't bother me all that much, except I guess that's a lie; it does. For some reason, I test very high on forgettability.

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You do not always seem to be able to decidethat it is all right, that you are doing what you're doingand yet there is always that complicity in your smilethat it is we, not you, who are doing itwhich is one of the things that make me love you

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'What have you known of lossThat makes you different from other men?'- Gilgamesh

When the desert refused my history,Refused to acknowledge that I had livedthere, with you, among a vanished tribe,

two, three thousand years ago, you partedthe dawn rain, its thickest monsoon curtains,

and beckoned me to the northern canyons.There, among the red rocks, you lived alone.I had still not learned the style of nomads:

to walk between the rain drops to keep dry.Wet and cold, I spoke like a poor man,

without irony. You showed me the relicsof our former life, proof that we'd at lastfound each other, but in your arms I felt

singled out for loss. When you lit the fireand poured the wine, "I am going," I murmured,repeatedly, "going where no one has beenand no one will be... Will you come with me?"You took my hand, and we walked through the streets

of an emptied world, vulnerableto our suddenly bare history in which I was,

but you said won't again be, singledout for loss in your arms, won't ever againbe exiled, never again, from your arms.